THE HOPE OF A HIDDEN TREASURE
The next day I lured Reuben off on a fishing excursion to a mountain
lake, and so congratulated myself on escaping ordeals to which I found
myself wholly unequal. We did not reach the farmhouse till quite late
in the evening, and found that Mr. Hearn and Miss Warren were out
enjoying a moonlight ride. As on the previous evening, all the family
gathered around Reuben and me as we sat down to our late supper, the
little girls arranging with delight the sylvan spoil that I had brought
them. They were all so genial and kind that I grieved to think that I
had but one more evening with them, and I thought of my cheerless
quarters in New York with an inward shiver.
Before very long Mr. Hearn entered with Miss Warren, and the banker was
in fine spirits.
"The moonlit landscapes were divine," he said. "Never have I seen them
surpassed--not even in Europe."
It was evident that his complacency was not easily disturbed, for I
thought that a more sympathetic lover would have noted that his
companion was not so enthusiastic as himself. Indeed Miss Warren seemed
to bring in with her the cold pale moonlight. Her finely-chiselled oval
face looked white and thin as if she were chilled, and I noticed that
she shivered as she entered.
"Come," cried Mr. Yocomb, in his hearty way; "Emily, thee and Mr. Hearn
have had thy fill of moonlight, dew, and such like unsubstantial stuff.
I'm going to give you both a generous slice of cold roast-beef. That's
what makes good red blood; and Emily, thee looks as if thee needed a
little more. Then I want to see if we cannot provoke thee to one of thy
old-time laughs. Seems to me we've missed it a little of late. Thy
laugh beats all thy music at the piano."
"Yes, Emily," said Mr. Hearn, a little discontentedly, "I think you are
growing rather quiet and _distraite_ of late. When have I heard one of
your genuine, mirthful laughs?"
With a sudden wonder my mind took up his question. When had I heard her
laugh, whose contagious joyousness was so infectious that I, too, had
laughed without knowing why? I now remembered that it was before he
came; it was that morning when my memory, more kind than my fate, still
refused to reveal the disappointment that now was crushing my very
soul; it was when all in the farmhouse were so glad at my assured
recovery. Reuben had said that she was like a lark that day--that she
equalled Dapple in her glad life. I could recall no such day since,
though her lover was present, and her happiness assured. Even he was
beginning to note that the light of his countenance did not illumine
her face--that she was "quiet and _distraite_."
Manlike, I had to think it all out, but I thought swiftly. The echo of
his words had scarcely died away before the light of a great hope
flashed into my face as my whole heart put the question:
"Can it be only sympathy?"
She met my eager glance shrinkingly. I felt almost as if my life
depended on the answer that she might consciously or unconsciously
give. Why did she fall into painful and even piteous confusion?
But her womanly pride and strong character at once asserted themselves,
for she arose quietly, saying, "I do not feel well this evening," and
she left the room.
Mr. Hearn followed precipitately, and was profuse in his commiseration.
"I shall be well in the morning," she said, with such clear, confident
emphasis that it occurred to me that the assurance was not meant for
his ears only; then, in spite of his entreaties, she went to her room.
I wanted no more supper, and made a poor pretence of keeping Reuben
company, and I thought his boy's appetite never would be satisfied. My
mind was in such a tumult of hope and fear that I had to strive with my
whole strength for self-mastery, so as to excite no surmises. Mrs.
Yocomb gave me a few inquiring glances, thinking, perhaps, that I was
showing more solicitude about Miss Warren than was wise; but in fact
they were all so simple-hearted, so accustomed to express all they
thought and felt, that they were not inclined to search for hidden and
subtle motives. Even feigning more bungling than mine would have kept
my secret from them. Adah seemed relieved at Miss Warren's departure.
Mr. Hearn lighted a cigar and sat down on the piazza; as soon as
possible I pleaded fatigue and retired to my room, for I was eager to
be alone that I might, unwatched, look with fearful yet glistening eyes
on the trace I had discovered of an infinite treasure.
I again sat down by the window and looked into the old garden. The
possibility that the woman that I had there seen, undisguised in her
beautiful truth, might be drawing near me, under an impulse too strong
to be resisted, thrilled my very soul. "It's contrary to reason, to
every law in nature," I said, "that she should attract me with such
tremendous gravitation, and yet my love have no counteraction.
"And yet," I murmured, "beware--beware how you hope. Possibly she is
merely indisposed. It is more probable that her feelings toward you are
those of gratitude only and of deep sympathy. She is under the
impression that you saved her life, and that she has unwittingly
blighted yours; and, as Mrs. Yocomb said, she is so kind-hearted, so
sensitive, that the thought shadows her life and robs it of zest and
happiness. You cannot know that she is learning to return your love in
spite of herself, simply because she is pale and somewhat sad. She
would think herself, as she said, inhuman if she were happy and serene.
I must seek for other tests;" and I thought long and deeply. "Oh, Will
Shakespeare!" I at last murmured, "you knew the human heart, if any one
ever did. I remember now that you wrote:
"'A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon Than love that would
seem hid.'
"Oh, for the eyes of Argus. If all the mines of wealth in the world
were uncovered, and I might have them all for looking, I'd turn away
for one clear glimpse into her woman's heart to-night. Go to New York
on Monday! No, not unless driven away with a whip of scorpions. No
eagle that ever circled those skies watched as I'll stay and watch for
the faintest trace of this priceless secret. No detective, stimulated
by professional pride and vast reward, ever sought proof of 'murd'rous
guilt' as I shall seek for evidences of this pure woman's love, for
more than life depends on the result of my quest."
Words like these would once have seemed extravagant and absurd, but in
the abandon of my solitude and in my strong excitement they but
inadequately expressed the thoughts that surged through my mind. But as
I grew calmer, Conscience asked to be heard.
"Just what do you propose?" it asked; "to win her from another, who now
has every right to her allegiance and love? Change places, and how
would you regard the man who sought to supplant you? You cannot win
happiness at the expense of your honor."
Then Reason added, with quiet emphasis, "Even though your conscience is
not equal to the emergency, hers will be. She will do what seems right
without any regard for the consequences. If you sought to woo her now,
she would despise you; she would regard it as an insult that she would
never forgive. It would appear proof complete that you doubted her
truth, her chief characteristic."
Between them they made so strong a case against me that my heart sank
at the prospect. But hope is the lever that moves the world onward, and
the faint hope that had dawned on my thick night was too dear and
bright a one to leave me crushed again by my old despondency, and I
felt that there must be some way of untangling the problem. If the wall
of honor hedged me in on every side, I would _know_ the fact to be true
before I accepted it.
"I do not propose to woo her," I argued; and possibly my good
resolution was strengthened by the knowledge that such a course would
be fatal to my hope; "I only intend to discover what may possibly
exist. I never have intentionally sought to influence her, even by a
glance, since I knew of her relation to Mr. Hearn. I'm under no
obligation to this prosperous banker; I'm only bound by honor in the
abstract. They are not married. Mrs. Yocomb would say that I had been
brought hither by an overruling Providence--it certainly was not a
conscious choice of mine--and since I met this woman everything has
conspired to bring me to my present position. I know I'm not to blame
for it--no more than I was for the storm or the lightning bolt. What a
clod I should be were I indifferent to the traits that she has
manifested! I feel with absolute certainty that I cannot help the
impression that she has made on me. If I could have foreseen it all, I
might have remained away; but I was led hither, and kept here by my
illness till my chains are riveted and locked, and the key is lost. I
cannot escape the fact that I belong to her, body and soul.
"Now suppose, for the sake of argument, that gratitude, respect,
friendliness, a sense of being unprotected and alone in the world, have
led to her engagement with the wealthy, middle-aged banker, and that
through it all her woman's heart was never awakened: such a thing at
least is possible. If this were true, she would be no more to blame
than I, and we might become the happy victims of circumstances. I'm not
worthy of her, and never shall be, but I can't help that either. After
all, it seems to me that that which should fulfil my hope is not a
ledger balance of good qualities, but the magnetic sympathy of two
natures that supplement each other, and were designed for each other in
Heaven's match-making. Even now my best hope is based on the truth that
she attracts me so irresistibly, and though a much smaller body
morally, I should have some corresponding attraction for her. If her
woman's heart has become mine, what can she give him? Her very truth
may become my most powerful ally. If she still loves him, I will go
away and stay away; if it be in accordance with my trembling hope, I
have the higher right, and I will assert it to the utmost extent of my
power. Shall the happiness of two lives be sacrificed to his unflagging
prosperity? Could it ever be right for him to lead her body to the
altar and leave her heart with me? Could she, who is truth itself, go
there and perjure herself before God and man? No! a thousand times no!
It has become a simple question of whom she loves, and I'll find out if
Shakespeare's words are true. If she has love for me, let her bury it
never so deeply, my love will be the divining-rod that will inevitably
discover it."
Having reached this conclusion, I at last slept, in the small hours of
the night.
I thought I detected something like apprehension in her eyes when I met
her in the morning. Was she conscious of a secret that might reveal
itself in spite of her? But she was cheerful and decided in her manner,
and seemed bent on assuring Mr. Hearn that she was well again, and all
that he could desire.
Were I in mortal peril I could not have been more vigilantly on my
guard. Not for the world would I permit her to know what was passing in
my mind--at least not yet--and as far as possible I resumed my old
manner. I even simulated more dejection than I felt, to counterbalance
the flash of hope that I feared she had recognized on the previous
evening.
I well knew that all her woman's strength, that all her woman's pride
and exalted sense of honor would bind her to him, who was serenely
secure in his trust. My one hope was that her woman's heart was my
ally; that it would prove the strongest; that it would so assert itself
that truth and honor would at last range themselves on its side. Little
did the simple, frank old Quaker realize the passionate alternations of
hope and fear that I brought to his breakfast-table that bright Sunday.
All that my guarded scrutiny could gather was that Miss Warren was a
little too devoted and thoughtful of her urbane lover, and that her
cheerfulness lacked somewhat in spontaneity.
It was agreed at the breakfast-table that we should all go to meeting.
"Mrs. Yocomb," I said, finding her alone for a moment, "won't you be
moved this morning? I need one of your sermons more than any heathen in
Africa. Whatever your faith is, I believe in it, for I've seen its
fruits."
"If a message is given to me I will not be silent; if not, it would be
presumptuous to speak. But my prayer is that the Spirit whom we worship
may speak to thee, and that thou wilt listen. Unless He speaks, my poor
words would be of no avail."
"You are a mystery to me, Mrs. Yocomb, with your genial homely farm
life here, and your mystical spiritual heights at the meeting-house.
You seem to go from the kitchen by easy and natural transition to
regions beyond the stars, and to pass without hesitancy from the
companionship of us poor mortals into a Presence that is to me
supremely awful."
"Thee doesn't understand, Richard. The little faith I have I take with
me to the kitchen, and I'm not afraid of my Father in heaven because he
is so great and I'm so little. Is Zillah afraid of her father?"
"I suppose you are right, and I admit that I don't understand, and I
don't see how I could reason it out."
"God's children," she replied, "as all children, come to believe many
blessed truths without the aid of reason. It was not reason that taught
me my mother's love, and yet, now that I have children, it seems very
reasonable. I think I learned most from what she said to me and did for
me. If ever children were assured of love by their Heavenly Father, we
have been; if it is possible for a human soul to be touched by loving,
unselfish devotion, let him read the story of Christ."
"But, Mrs. Yocomb, I'm not one of the children."
"Yes, thee is. The trouble with thee is that thee's ashamed, or at
least that thee won't acknowledge the relation, and be true to it."
"Dear Mrs. Yocomb," I cried in dismay, "I must either renounce
heathenism or go away from your influence," and I left precipitately.
But in truth I was too far gone in human idolatry to think long upon
her words; they lodged in my memory, however, and I trust will never
lose their influence.